


[Panwink] Hunger

by fanfictioning



Series: Grey Sky Universe [4]
Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 05:03:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12125106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictioning/pseuds/fanfictioning
Summary: Please, do not read this series.Instead, go to Wanna One Universe (https://archiveofourown.org/series/825354)Thank you.***Woke up, then found stomach empty.Walked out to find the age of human had long past.Still, carried on walking with my wizard-of-oz-like trashcan.Where does trail of nowhere lead to?***This is the Alternative Universe - Fantasy.It's Omnibus.It is very, very dark, gloomy and gory.Kinda like Bland Runner-thingy.Please be warned beforehand, the usual Pan-Wink personality is not used in this series.If you want the usual sweet-lovey-dovey Panwink. Please do not read this series.This series is very explicit in its expression of depression and madness.





	[Panwink] Hunger

a.

Malnutrition.

Thought I learned something about that in school. That was long time ago.

I moved one leg over the other. This is getting old. My eyes scattered throughout the room. I don't really see anything. Nothing is seen. I might as well close my eyes.

The stomach growled. See, you can close your eyes but you can't ignore your hunger.

Hunger.

What is it to bother me so? Such is a curse of life. If you don't consume, you get consumed. I toyed with the scene of bacteria eating me up after I refused to put something through my throat. Surreal the picture is, I've imagined it so. Seeing the body rot away and eaten by rats and germs. It seems somehow... fitting.

Hunger.

It's unrelenting voice of emotion, from deep down your core, calling for murder and salvation. Eat and survive, survive and prosper. Who needs some book telling us what to do when the compass of your stomach already tells you its divine truth? Ah, my minds wander again. My stomach stays afoot, defying reason and logic. I lose.

I got up and stretched. Even though head told me there is nothing in the fridge. I opened it anyway.

Nothing is seen. My eyes don't see. My minds don't register. My stomach growls. Murder and eat.

Stupid calling.

b.

Voice of animal. Singsong of survival. There's nothing to eat in the house. Oh, such a bother. Such wonder of the species, how they survive against its will. I opened the doors and walked out.

Can't you live with reason alone? I don't think so.

Reason stays against the song of life, defying its divine wisdom. Curse of human reason binds us again and again. The street was deserted and scarce. The trees and birds were the only moving thing in sight. My eyes don't see. My mind doesn't register. The sky.

The sky always makes me mad. Something unreachable. Why is it there to mock us? Why can't you touch what is there? Too many people have tried and failed, to reach something which doesn't exist. Then, why can it be seen when it can't be reached.

The sounds of the footsteps of an animal echoed through the empty street. Slap, slap. Slippers of reason slapped against the bare feet. I arrived at the bread-house.

c.

\--No Human Allowed--

I walked in. Ignoring the sign as always.

The bread was ripe with pleasure. The aroma of life was everywhere. I breathed in. Screams of the stomach. Eat and consume, survive and prosper. Oh, my ears don't register. My mind falters. My heart malfunctions.

I looked around, where is the pig?

Pig showed up, listening his breads whispering loudly such human has set foot in the store.

\--Make it leave!--

I hear, I hear. How is it going, pig? It answered, business as usual. Only bloodthirsty vampires visit now and then, not so much visit. Grumble, grumble. Joys of life, you can always find something wrong with it. Only the dead is fortunate enough to survive the grasp of life. Such life, such mad goddess. She riles us up to destroy us. The destroyer of  
life.

\--Why, don't you want some bread?--

I opened my pulse I left at the house. Nope, not a coin there. Isn't it such a pity, when existence of illusional coin protects you from eating bread? Even though bread is here, coin is not. The magic of coin binds you not to eat the bread. How stupid these humans are I don't even.

Pigs are right as usual. The voice of unreason. If those don't exist, we will murder us all with truth of reason. Those poisonous voice of talking voices in the head. Only if I can squash it like a little bug. Only then, I shall be free.

\--Slave, move on. Nothing to eat here--

Looking through all the loaves of bread, I agree. Bread can't be eaten, there is no coin in the pulse I left at the house. Business as usual. I walked out of the breadhouse.

d.

The birds are twittering. How annoying. I looked at their ugly faces. Woah, would you look at that, ugly human is looking at us. How disgusting!

I can not win, huh?

I walked on.

e.

Slap, slap. The slippers slapped against the bare feet. How would you like your steak, ma'am? Well-done and rare, please. How pleasant it is, to be free of hunger. Only when you are with it, you know you are alive. It is not a good feeling, feeling alive. Where is it going?

\--Magic House! Come on in!--

Such a lousy place. How did the feet take me here? One step at a time, but consistently falling apart. The dreadful den was thumping with sounds of today. Chill, express your being. How can you be mad, when everything is. The sounds of laughters and disgrace. Chill, come on in. I came.

f.

The gentlemen at the door was misconfigured and sound. Let me take your coat, sire. He took the coat which I didn't have. Let me take your cane as well. He did that too, which didn't exist. Come on in. But I don't have the coin and the pulse. No matter, everyone is welcome as long as they are slaves.

Oh, that is glad. I came on.

The doors opened with gentleness of the death. The smell, the sounds of the failing was everywhere. Everybody was dancing, going mad and sad. They kept on going. Going and going, is better than not going. I walked to the bar with uncertain steps. How is it going, sir. Have some drink. What is it made of? Dead rabbits and rats. Superb. I drank up.

g.

The rabbits and dogs were leaning against the bar, talking with one another. No, this is right. No, you are right. They kept going back and forth. This is right. No, you are right. They kept going on and on and bit more. Then, signed off with their contracts. How pleasant doing business with you. Likewise. They shook their hands and moved on. The  
bats were crawling all over the place, looking for some coins to toss away. Fifty-dollor. Seventy-dollor. Everybody climbed on, picking up whatever they could get their hands on.

This is animal house. Sir, of course it is. Are you not one, sir? I thought I was something like human. No such thing exists. Not since Great Decay. Sir, you must be hallucinating, because no such thing is allowed anymore. Awful things they were, it is such a fortune that no such exist anymore.

Huh, I must be sleeping longer than I should have.

The smoke on the staging was making itself known. Cloudy, and more cloudy. It grew to be rainbow. No rain, but lovely colors. All hail the great masters, it marched on. The rivers of the pure flowed through the disco floor. Everybody bowed and drank once in a while. How delicious it is so. Have some more. I finished up my drink.

h.

Oh, you are leaving, sir. Here, are your cane and the coat. But I didn't give no such thing to you. You must be joking, sir. Humourous aren't you? Take these and go on. I took the them and moved on.

i.

The cane was heavy and long. It didn't assist me walking, only hindered it. The coat was heavy and irritating. It kept my spine from standing straight. I looked like a clown, and was one.

The slippers carried me on walking, where is it going? I chanced on the balloonshop.

j.

\--So many balloons! You won't believe!--

The door was open, I walked in. So many colors and scents wrapped me around like a little doll. So generous of you to come here. The brown bear welcomed me. What is it you are selling here? We sell balloons. Aren't they charming? So many shapes and glitters made my eyes burst. Aren't they pretty little thing. The bear munched on the rabbits brains.  
So delicious, too. I popped one balloon. The blood spilled over like little failed bridges. Carry on, carry on. Make it good. It sang of sky it can't reach. So delicious. The bear ate some more brain. Have some more. I took a bite off of sticky fingers. I tasted of despair and helplessness. Does it make you not hungry anymore? No. That's a pity. Have some more.

I gently refused and walked out.

k.

The coat was getting heavier, the cane was a sixth leg i didn't need. The televisions at the shop window was bright with madness. Happy hour, so many blood, all hail the madness. It spoke of truth in disguise. Its form grotesque and gentle. It smiled of past it never had, future it already have, the present of nonexistence. I went on and on. They will  
keep going even if there is nobody to listen to. Its essence of existence is speaking itself. The audience didn't need to be, populace is mirage. Only the talking speeches and moving lips exist. Gently, I moved away.

l.

I threw my coat and the cane to the trashcan nearby. It woke up and started to follow me.

m.

I happened on the bridge of salvation. The cat and the lamb were sitting away, smoking cigar and fire. I once killed a man. How did it go? It wasn't so easy, it kept on dying even when I tried to keep it alive. How weird! They only die, they don't live. They are worst pet I've ever owned. Isn't that right. They yammered on. I hopped on the bridge. It smelled of dread and maliciousness. The river was filled filth and lies. Jump in. Let us be together. It spoke of truth it didn't have, lies it was full of. I'll be your angel. Jump on. Tight ring of circus was sugar-coated with empty smiles. Your hearts are filled with wonder. Jump over. Their smirk was disturbing and degenerated. I crossed the bridge in one piece. The trash can followed on.

n.

What is your name, trashcan? I used to be called this or that, ling or may. Now, I have no such thing, my lord. I am your  
lord? Sure thing, my lord. If you are not my lord, what could you be? But I'm not a lord. No matter, I am your page. Thus, you are my lord. Weird that is, what is your name page? I have no such thing, my lord. Then, what should I call you? Anything you fancy, my lord. You give me name. You define me. You refine me. You exist me.

I exist you, thus you exist me. What a coupling of awfulness. But it is better than nonexistence. Degenerate it may be, anything is better than irrelevance. Many people have hung themselves up, not because they are insane, but because they can't accept the irrelevance of the suit they are in. The masks...

Trashcan and man without the coat and the cane marched on.

o.

The beaver was running in circles. What is it doing? I am solving problems. What kind of problems? Don't you see? This is very important. Very, very important. If I don't do these things right, everything will fall apart. How can broken bridge get broken again? You don't understand, the beaver said. You should keep the bridge broken, but not so broken. That is the fine line, the art of what I am doing. I am expert on that. The beaver stood up straight proud and sound. Magical indeed. Broken but not so broken. How could that be? That is my trade secret, I can tell you not.

\--All hail the expert of everything, the beaver!--

I asked the trashcan. What is this fellow speaking of? He is full of bean and booms. Is he lying? No, he just believes in his lies, thus he speaks his truth. Then, is his truth a lie? Worse than lies, it is parasite of truths. It kill what it is not, changes what is sound into perverted sound. He is corrupter of the young and the old, left and right. Is he a bad beaver? He is a good beaver. Very, very good at what he does. His hard work makes his fellow beavers healthy and sound. But the broken bridges? They never get fixed. But I thought beavers make bridges and fix them. They do, it is just their bridges are not anybody else's. Their shack is full of rice they could never eat. But they never give anything away. Why? That is just the nature of the beaver. They hoard. Hoarding is only thing they can do well. Anything other than that is degeneracy in their minds. How odd those beavers! Trashcan and I moved on.

p.

The road was windy and long. The trees stayed away from us. They didn't want to avail themselves into hands of the others. They are pure. The birds were the only ones living there, too. Maybe a rat or two. But rats were everywhere. My slippers broke. I put the broken slippers into the trashcan, and walked on barefoot. Soon, I arrived at the agora.

\--You are with us, or against us?--

There are lots of people in the agora. Actual people, not just bears and rabbits. It's been awhile since I've seen them. What are they doing? Their antics were peculiar and mad at its sadness. Some were in arms, and others were in arms. First, one of them walked up on the stage with a huge applause, then booed down a second later. Then, the other did the same, then another. They keep doing that between themselves. Sometimes others became us, and we became others. Everybody is colorful of their smells. When they first meet, they stuff their noises up into other's bumcheeks. This is very important, one said. We should keep ourselves alert which is our pack, which is not. Your pack? Our pack. The others are devious. They wanted to smell me, too. I gently refused. They got angry.

If you don't let us smell your bumcheeks, we will murder you! Such a fine language. Agora surely have corrupt water in their springs. What makes them so stupid? But they were fine in their language and logic, and brutal in their swords and pistols. They want to kill us, I spoke to trashcan. Use your cane, my lord.

I picked up the cane, and make sure everybody see it. All of sudden, everybody knelt and bowed at my feet.

\--Savior has come! All kneel or be killed!--

One by one, they collared themselves around their necks. Now, harmonious and united in their voluntary slavery, they asked for the divine truth for the cane wielder. This is bad, I don't have any. I spoke to trashcan. Just say anything, they'll eat it, my lord. I said,

\--Breed and prosper--

They all tore up their clothes and began to mate fiercely, slaughtering anyone who does not.

I left in hurry.

q.

Mate and slaughter, they sure were something. Their packs were fierce and brutal, their language fine and devilish. What are they made of? Some leftovers of the last generation, my lord. Is that why they are so deformed in their thinking? They only eat only what they eat, they crave certainty in uncertain land. Their wish is fragile, their hope is  
fraudulent. They are weak and misguided, my lord. Huh, look at me, talking to trashcan like it is fine and sane. Am I mad, too? You are only mad as much as you admit so, my lord.

The trashcan carried my luggage and became my interlocutor in the lonely trail. Even if I'm mad, at least I am feeling awful. I marched  
on.

r.

The thirst.

The thirst was killing me. Or, at least distracting me enough to stay astray from the trail. The trashcan, of course, without stomach was no help at all. I chanced upon the potion master.

\--Drink up! To your healthy madness!--

What are you selling? Oh, I have everything and anything you need and want. Is that so? What is it that I want? Of course, I don't know. But have some of my potions, you'll be fine. Didn't you say you had everything I want? Of course, have some.

The colors and sounds of the waters were charming and alluring. Some spoke of truth. The other, the love. The other, the salvation. The other, death. The other, life. Are you sure you know what you're selling? Of course, I do. I have beaver's blessing. The beaver from broken bridges? Oh, you've already met, the beaver grants my potions its divine wisdom. Suddenly, I was not so sure he knows what he's selling. The image of the beaver hoarding in circles weighted heavy in my mind.

Do you drink your own potions? No, I don't need them. Why, is it not good? No, it's very good. It will give you everything you want. But, you don't drink them. Because I don't need so. Not persuaded, I poured every potions into the trashcan. I whipped it up, mixed it up good. The bubbles burst and gurgled, speaking of lies it believed, the sky it  
damned. I marched on.

s.

Walking barefoot is tiring. I peeked inside the trashcan. I don't know, there's nothing there to wear. We decided to sit on the stub near the trail.

The trees were many, so the forest wrapㅔed around me and the trashcan. The breeze, so merry, made a wheee--- sound over the trees. Oh, they so merry why can't we be? Why can't anyone be? Unknown anger built from  
deep in myself. It's different kind of stomach which does this. Trashcan just sat there, not getting what I'm feeling. What can tin know about what human is feeling. Feelings, what a useless things. But, without it, nothing matters.

A bug chanced upon my resting hand on the stub. It talked in spiritual language. How is it going, sirs? Very well, thank you. How are you? Trashcan answered, instead of me. I was too angry. I'm very well as well. What is wrong with this gentleman here? Enraged, a will to swat him away rose up in my heart. What if I squashed you like a little bug  
as you are, Mr. Bug? I asked the gentlebug. Oh, I don't know sir. It will be a pity indeed. But why? Why? Does it need why to kill something insignificant? Why can't I just kill you just because just. Nothing just there to murder insignificant. You are insignificant to the sky, what would you feel if the sky suddenly squashed you?

The sky. The goddamn sky. Now I glimpsed at the incomprehensible reason why I was so angry at any. It was that damn sky. Always there, but never reachable. I feel so small and matterless under it. No wonder I want to murder the absolute authority. But, will it fill me with joy when I happen to do that? Or, will it put me into barrel of despair more deeply  
than I was before.

Kill me, Mr. Human. I don't care. The Mr. Bug said in gentle tone. If it pleases you, I might as well end my life here. Go on. The subtle hint of mockery was in its voice. No, its tone is neutral. It is I who is feeling of unappreciated. The anger is just another reaction. Nothing deep there. Just a little kid trying to be good, but failing horribly.

No, Mr. Bug. Fly away. I'm not worthy of anything to murder you. No justification. Just childish infatuation with itself. Would I feel pleasure when I did murder you? Maybe, for a second, for a chance. But it will dislocate me further into the cave of despair. Fly away, Mr Bug.

Mr. Bug nodded curtly at trashcan and I, and flew away.

t.

We clunked down the road some more. My thirst was still there somewhere deep in my eyes. Even stronger than hunger, it made me irritated and restless. Where can I get something to drink? I peeked at the trashcan. It opened its head to show inside. Disgusting mess of whatthefuckness was boiling inside. I don't even want to see that. My mind hurried down the road. Maybe some stream will be over somewhere.

Maybe I was right. The sound of running water was nearby. My steps became haste and lively. A bit away from the road, river flew. A lot of people already there, drinking from it. Somebody was knee-deep. The others stuck their heads into the water, and never came up for an air. How can that be?

Oh, fellow stranger, come aboard. Have some drink of love and peace. No, I just need some water. What do you mean by love and peace? The eternal goddess has granted us the pureness of its soul. This river of fertility will strip you off of you darkness and remake you as believer of miracles. Miracles, what do you mean? Have a look at the river yourself.

I did. I was blown away.

Anything I wanted, and didn't know I did was already there. Within the grasp of me. How could this be? Is this river really gift of gods? Take a sip, stranger. The voice echoed through my eardrums. Just a sip, and everything will be fine.

Clunk.

Startled, I looked at the trashcan. That is interesting. What scenery do you see, trashcan? I see dragons.

Dragons?

Yes, my lord. The dragons are fare and square. Waiting for any to dip its toes and mouths in the water. When enough is lost inside of those, dragon eats them up. Only pieces of bones and pieces of bodies are left. Every soul has found its peace in the stomach of the dragon.

That's the price you pay for eternal peace. The fella by the river said. But you may never be in despair, in the blessing of the dragon.

I just need some water. How hard should it be?

One by one, other strangers looked at the rivers, and fell willingly. Some took a cautious sip, and stayed close to the river all their life. They couldn't live. All their wantonness was already there in the water, only they couldn't reach. It is just like the sky. You can't reach the sky, you can't reach the bottom of the river in one piece. Just another trap by benevolent gentleness. Damn those illusions.

Trashcan and I marched on.

u.

Road was getting darker with many grasses. I could feel spirit flowing through under my toes. I was walking on something alive. Asleep, but alive. Forest was dark with its essence. I strayed from the main road and fell through little bits of ways. I was going darker, deeper into the desert. Trash can followed along.

Old rocks of the land was presented between our eyes. Big pantheons of the old god was upon us. What a huge temple. Vines of green wraped around the cracks of the broken rocks. Forest has eaten the rocks up and kept it at its bay. I set my foot into it.

The caves men built. Place of worship. Oasis of transcendence. Euphoria of letting go. Lost minds find little nook to rest on. Big statue of olden gods were tired but still standing. The imaginations of men, what do gods look like? What does it hold in its face? Grace or anger.

Savior or destroyer.

Temple was empty.

It was filled with air and grass, light and hint of fog. Men have built it and moved on. Abandoned and forgotten, still it stood still.

Waiting for something that won't come.

I and trashcan moved on.

v.

Hunger and thirst was becoming of me. I was exhausted and done. Walking till nowhere and nowhen. The images of all who have found their own solace in their pursuit flashed before me. They mocked me. To be precise, I mocked myself. The little voices in the heads, the doubts and self-prescribed-wisdom, which is ego-talking, tried to guide me through  
more content, fine life. Why do you keep walking? Rest, like all the others. Find your peace and stability, before and beside the idols of happiness. Isn't that all we all could do? As pitiful, little human beings?

As more I've gotten tired and sad, hunger and thirst got me down. I was been dulled and dumbed, duped myself to corners. Nowhere to turn but go down, thus fine.

Clunk

I could no longer hear what trashcan is whispering. What is it, but my feverish imagination of madness. Where was I going, what for am I walking. The trail of awfulness and self-satisfaction was being seen meaningless by all the others. Infantile and childish pursuit, they used to say. Who are you, but to be dead in the middle of desert, alone. Looking for non-existence in the middle of short life. Stupid, and desperate I looked down.

By chance, I found an abandoned building. Once stood proud of mill production, now deserted by those who moved on for another gig of fortune. In it, debris of human endeavor, hubris of once-champions, true face of false superheros, laid dead. The old posters and machines of production stood weird and alone. I found a old and dusty mattress in the small storage room, dragged it in the middle of wide, flat surface under large glass dome of sunlight, and laid myself on and under.

The day passed by, the night came on.

I slept and dreamed.

 

 

fin.

**Author's Note:**

> ***
> 
> This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All characters and events in this fiction--even those based on real people--are entirely fictional.
> 
>  
> 
> ***
> 
> Hello, this is Jamie.
> 
> Comment and kudos, if you like.
> 
> Thank you.


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